"Why Don’t You Go Touch Yourself?" is an indie-rock slap to the face of performative morality — a tongue-in-cheek anthem for anyone tired of being judged by people who don’t know how to look in their own mirror. Mixing punk sarcasm, dreamy introspection, and drum-and-bass chaos, the track spins between playful rebellion and quiet truth.

It’s a whispered confession wrapped in a scream: a song about hypocrisy, projection, and self-love — the uncomfortable kind that starts when you stop policing everyone else. Underneath its teasing hook and frantic pulse, there’s a reminder that healing starts inward.

It’s messy, honest, and a little holy in its blasphemy.
For the sinners who meditate, the saints who rage, and everyone caught somewhere between.

Why Don’t You Go Touch Yourself?

Anbid Zaman is a queer activist and artist whose work rises from a life marked by displacement, resistance, and the insistence on living fully even when the world tries to deny that possibility. Born in Bangladesh and shaped by grassroots queer organizing from a young age, they grew into their voice through community struggle — learning early that courage isn’t an act, but a daily discipline.

Their journey from danger to refuge transformed them without erasing their origins. Living in Germany, Anbid continues to work at the intersections of identity, migration, and liberation, supporting queer people who face violence and navigating the complexities of chosen family, safety, and belonging. Their activism is guided by deep commitments: justice without compromise, solidarity across borders, and an unshakeable belief that marginalised voices should be heard not with pity, but with respect.

These values spill directly into their music. Anbid’s sound blends testimonial storytelling, emotional minimalism, and atmospheric layers shaped by memory — the quiet of hiding, the noise of protest, the ache of leaving, the thrill of surviving. Each track carries the weight of lived experience and the brightness of hope that refuses to die. Their art is not just expression; it is continuation, resistance, and a reminder that stories carry power long before the world acknowledges them.